Perfect
by anakinlove
Summary: To the Batman, all his little Robins are perfect.
1. Dick is Perfect

Two tears trickled down Dick's cheeks as he sat in the living room, arms tightly wound around his skinny legs. He buried his face in his knees and shivered. His thin form shook urgently, but it had nothing at all to do with the cold. His diaphragm heaved up and down as he forced his tears back from the place where they had sprung.

"Dick", a voice called, rebounding off the walls almost as if there were ten summons and not just one. "Dick where are you?" Dick, hearing Bruce approaching, raced off and forced himself into the tiny place behind a few boxes in the closet. The dust made him want to sneeze, but he held his breath until the urge passed by. He wiped the tears from his eyes and held his breath.

Bruce cocked his head, listening. "Dick", he called "Are you hiding from me?" He waited in absolute silence for a moment. Dick felt as if he were about to burst with sorrows and let out a small squeak, which the Dark Knight honed in on like a bloodhound to a scent. He opened the closet door slowly, the creaks and groans of it reminding him just how much it needed to be oiled, and crouched down eyes, searching the darkness. "Dickie", he said urgently, "Dick's what's wrong?"

The small boy, unable to hold anything else back, broke into frantic sobs his body heaving with the force of his agony. "Dick", Bruce said, panic rising in his breast "come here." Dick answered the summons like he had been trained to do and crawled out from under the boxes throwing himself into Bruce's embrace and gripping the front of the billionaire's shirt like death itself.

"Dick", Bruce said anxiously, anxiety rising, born of Dick's strange behavior "Dick, are you hurt?" Dick shook his head, tears still streaming. Yet Bruce, ran his hands over him anyway, searching for injuries. Once he was satisfied his ward was free from physical ailment, he simply wound his arms around him tightly, creating a wall between the boy and the outside world, a wall Dick had grown used to hiding behind in the years since he had first come to Bruce. The man rocked him gently, shushing him with small, gently muttered words.

Only after Dick's crying had abated did Bruce get up and put him down on a chair. Then, he pulled another up, straddling it like it was a horse of some kind, and sat with his arms across the top of the back, chin resting atop them and eyes searching the boy's. "Alright", he said, "What's up, what's wrong? Why were you hiding from me?"

"I…I didn't want you to see me", Dick said softly, giving a sniffle.

"Why not?" Bruce asked.

"Because", Dick wailed, "I'm so stupid. I'm useless and I'm stupid and nobody wants me around."

"Now, why would you say something like that?" Bruce asked.

"Because it's true", Dick muttered. "I'm nothing."

"Dick, you're twelve and you're saving people everyday on the streets of Gotham. I'd hardly call that nothing." Dick just averted his eyes. "What happened today?" Bruce asked, "Something happened at school, didn't it?"

"Just some stupid kids", Dick muttered.

"What did they do?" Bruce prompted.

"They won't leave me alone", the boy cried, "they just keep swarming around me, calling me names and making fun of me 'cause I'm from the circus and stuff. They talk about the stuff I wear and the way my hair looks and everything. I don't know why."

"Because they're jealous", Bruce said.

"Jealous, hah, why would they be jealous of me? I'm nothing. Bruce, can I get my hair cut different and get some new clothes. I bet they'd leave me alone if I did that."

"Well", Bruce said, "you can if you'd like, but then you'd end up becoming just like them. You'd lose your "dickiness"." Dick snorted and Bruce turned his chair so he could sit on it a bit more conventionally.

"Maybe that'd be a good thing. It'd be better if I wasn't the way I am."

"You know what Dick", Bruce said, leaning foreward and taking his hands, "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Sure", Dick said, eyes lighting up at the idea of some truth he would be acquiring that no one else knew.

"You're perfect", Bruce whispered.

"Yea right", Dick scoffed.

"I'm serious", Bruce replied, none of the usual lightheartedness in his eyes. "You are absolutely perfect and you are so lucky to be what you are. You're so talented and handsome and intelligent. You are amazing."

"You really think that," Dick asked, "or are you just saying it?"

"I never throw words around I don't mean Dick, you are perfect in every way and everyone knows it. Why do you think they pick on you? It's because of what you are. Otherwise, they'd find something better to make fun of than your hair, which looks stunning today I might add." Dick's tear stained cheeks stretched in a grin.

"You are the most amazing thing that ever happened to me. I'm a billionaire, I could have anything I wanted, go anywhere I chose, be anything I wanted to be, but I picked you. I picked to stick around and raise you, not because I had to, but because you are so incredible and you teach me so much, I didn't want to miss a minute that could have been spent with you."

"Really?" Dick asked, eyes brightening. Bruce nodded.

"You are the most amazing creature that ever lived. You are such an incredible person, I want you to stay little, but I'm so excited to see what kind of adult you're going to become. I mean, what have those other kids got on you anyway. I could have chosen them if I wanted to, but I chose you. I didn't want them.

They're nothing compared to you. In fact, you could make fun of them if you wanted to. But I know you. And I know you're better than they are. You don't have to make fun of people to feel good about yourself. You're so amazing already, you don't need to lord it over anyone. After all, they already know."

Dick gave him a genuine, giant smile and leapt at him. He wrapped his arms around Bruce's neck and nuzzled him. "I love you Bruce."

"I love you too Dickie, and don't ever forget, no matter what anyone says about you, I'll always think the world of you."

"Always?" Dick asked. Bruce nodded.

"Always", he whispered.


	2. Jason is Perfect

Jason's guitar rapped the stairs as he climbed them. Bruce knew right then that that was a warning sign. Jason was always so careful about that guitar. It was his prized possession.

Filing his papers at his desk, Bruce waited for Jason to come to him, as he knew he probably would. Sure enough, the boy ambled slowly in, head hanging low and guitar dragging across the floor. He plopped down heavily in one of the chairs in the study and tossed his feet up over the armrest.

"What's wrong buddy?" Bruce asked, putting the papers down on his desk.

"You wouldn't understand", Jason muttered, hanging his head.

"Try me", Bruce replied dryly. Jason heaved a sigh and looked up at him, eyes dark and telling Bruce in the plainest words that he didn't understand anything. Bruce rolled his eyes. "Teenagers", he muttered. He waited a moment, hoping Jason might say something. Once it was evident the boy would need a little pushing, he spoke again. "Alright fine, it's not like I care anyway."

Bruce picked up the stack of papers and tapped them smartly on the manghony. Getting up, he stretched, muscles rippling beneath his silk suit, and started to walk out. It was apparent his ploy had worked when Jason's young voice piped up just as Bruce was stepping lightly out the door. "Bruce, can you get rid of this stupid guitar for me?"

"Sure", said Bruce, "how would you like me to get rid of it?"

"Destroy it", Jason muttered darkly.

"That shouldn't be too hard, I'll just toss it into one of those car crushers. That will totally destroy it. You can come if you'd like, watch as those big metal walls force the wood to splinter, the scream of the metal pieces and they're slowly forced together."

Jason flinched and Bruce smirked. "Come on kid", the older man said, kneeling down in front of Jason, "what's up? Why're you so down little one?" Jason gave a sigh.

"You'll just laugh at me", he mumbled darkly.

"Ok, you got me", Bruce said sarcastically, "it's obvious that whatever has got you so upset you want to destroy this beautiful guitar of yours will be like a terribly funny joke to me. It's evident to anyone with eyes that I love when you're in pain. In fact, I might make sure I have some medics on the scene before you tell me so they can bring me back after I die from laughter." He raised his eyebrows at Jason, who gave him a snort.

"Its just, you know how those kids in my class were putting a band together and they still needed another guitarist." Bruce nodded. "Well, I tried out today."

"And…"

"And they told me I suck, ok. Go ahead, start laughing." Bruce rolled his eyes and squeezed Jason's shoulder.

"That was an awful joke you know", he murmured gently to Jason, "not funny at all. Not like this one I heard the other day at work." A few seconds of whispering in the boy's ear had him falling out of his chair in elated shrieks of laughter.

"That's awful Bruce", he said, "You better not let Alfred hear you tell that. He'll wash your mouth out with soap." Bruce nodded and snickered.

"He probably would, which is why you're not gona tell him I told it to you." Jason gave him a wicked grin.

"Maybe", he whispered. But, his glee faded swiftly.

"Jason", Bruce said gently, taking the boy's soft face in his big, rough hands, "Don't think about them."

"But what they said was true", Jason said desperately, "I wasn't good enough."

"Hey", Bruce said, "You're perfect. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"Pink's new song isn't going to make me feel any better about myself Bruce, so don't even bother."

'Screw that woman's song, these are my words. It's what I used to tell Dick when he got down. You're perfect little Jay Jay." Jason rolled his eyes at the nickname. "Come on", Bruce said, "You know me, I'm a perfectionist. I refuse to be subjected to anything that isn't up to my standard of excellence." Jason didn't say anything this time, he just gazed at Bruce, listening intently.

"A lot of parents tell their kids they're so perfect when, I reality, their kid is butt ugly and can't do anything. Like that friend of yours, Bob, I'll bet his parents tell him he's great every day. They're just really good at lying if he actually believes it." Jason giggled.

"Bruce, that's so mean." Bruce shrugged.

"Well, it's the truth, I always tell the truth. But, don't you dare tell him I said that." Jason snickered.

"Anyway, if I thought you were totally untalented at the guitar and completely useless and a horrible creature to have around, I'd tell you, wouldn't I?"

"Yea, I guess", Jason said through a laugh, "guess you would."

"So", said Bruce, "if I'm not lying, then I must be telling the truth."

"Perhaps you're just mad", Jason said mildly.

"Perhaps", said Bruce, "it's a distinct possibility. But, madness is the kind of thing that rubs off so if I've got it, that means you've probably been infected too. I'll drag you down with me." He leapt at Jason and pined him to the ground. Jason gave a shriek and tried to pull away.

"Stop it Bruce", he cried, "stop it." He wiggled out of Bruce's grasp and jumped on top of him. Bruce was forced earthward by Jason's weight, but rolled over and got him in a headlock. They wrestled across the carpet for a few minutes, each holding back just enough so that they wouldn't harm the other. Bruce finally trapped Jason tightly in his arms and tossed him up into the air. Jason shrieked in delight and Bruce caught him, swinging him down in a wide arc to land on the Dark Knight's lap.

Jason leaned against Bruce's strong chest, gasping for air. Bruce kissed the side of his head and drew his arms tightly around him. "Keep playing the guitar Jason", Bruce whispered fiercely, "Because I think you're brilliant at it and one day, you'll be great."

"You'd really let me be a guitarist?" Jason asked. "You can flip burgers at McDonalds for all I care, just as long as you're happy and I get free hash browns." Jason giggled.

"You hate hash browns", he said playfully.

"Yea", said Bruce, "but Dick loves them and I can use them to coax him back here, since he always seems too busy to come around anymore. Either that or I can throw them at him. Whatever works." Jason grinned up at him, eyes shinning with adoration. Bruce snuggled him.

"Just remember", he said, "You're perfect. And no matter what, I'll always love you and I'll always think you're amazing."

"I know", Jason said, "you're so blinded by love, you'll never be able to see me for what I am, wicked."

"Really?" Bruce asked playfully.

"Sure", Jason replied, "I'll prove it." He crawled out of Bruce's lap and raced down the hall. "Alfred", Bruce just told me a joke, "You wanna hear it?"

"No", Bruce yelped, scrambling up, "Get back here Jay or I'll rip off your ears and feed them to the bats in the cave." Jason gave a shriek of laughter, which echoed through the halls of Wayne manor.

.


	3. Timmy is Perfect

Robin shook with the chill of the wind. The cold air whipped him so violently, his cape was practically strangling him but he didn't care and didn't make any move to alleviate the situation. The wind stung his face, tearing his tears from his cheeks.

Snow fell lightly, coating the landscape and covering the grim and dirt in an endless sea of white, as unchanging and static as the stars. Pain seemed to color even the world in its pale, ashen, all too familiar glory. Ohh, it was so familiar to Robin. He felt it so often, how could it not be. The inadequacy, the emptiness, the loneliness. All of it chilled him more than the wind or the snow ever could.

Hearing the almost inaudible roar of the batmobile, he forced the wetness out of his eyes and leapt down from the alcove. He landing lightly in an alleyway beside his house and hand sprung over to the car, alighting neatly in his seat. Batman gave him a sharp nod and turned the wheel, spurning the vehicle away from Robin's neighborhood.

The wind flurried the snow, making it tumble head over heels as it pin wheeled past the windshield wipers. Silence permeated the atmosphere, creeping into all the dark corners of the car. What Robin really wanted to keep crying until he was so empty there was nothing left, but the atmosphere would not permit it. Robin would not permit such weakness as that to manifest itself in front of the great Batman.

He wanted someone he could cry to, someone who could console him, who could alleviate things, make the world black and white again, rather than endless shades of gray. But, there was no one. There was nothing.

Batman glanced sharply over at him, taking in the boy's silence and stiff form and analyzing it just like he did everything else, in his cold, calculating way. "What is it?" he asked.

"What?" Robin queried.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing", Robin replied softly.

"Well, I suppose your business is your business, just so long as it doesn't interfere with your work." Robin nodded. He had been expecting Batman to leave it at that and was glad of it. Yet still, there had been a small hope in his heart that, perhaps, Batman might feel something for him, anything at all.

A stirring in his soul to pull over and talk, an urge to take young Robin in his arms and press him to himself so as to convince him that they were truly one, a team and not just separate entities. Obviously, this was not to be.

They rode in silence, aside from the smooth, steady hum of the Batmobile as it traveled swiftly westward and out of Gotham. "Where are we going?" Robin asked, mildly, eyes locked on the countryside flying by.

"The Scarecrow has been located", Batman replied, "We're going to get him." Robin nodded and sunk deeper into the seat. It looked as if it was going to be a long ride and he decided the rest might do him some good.

"Don't go to sleep", Batman said, "we're going to need to get out quickly and I don't want to have to wake you."

"As you wish", Robin replied, yet to himself muttered softly, "I guess not" and pressed his cheek to the window. It was cold. When he closed his eyes, he could almost believe he was five years old again and it was winter. He used to press his face to the glass and wait for his father to come home.

His mother would be cooking in the kitchen telling him that waiting at the window wouldn't make his father come any sooner. He half expected her warm arms to encircle him as she drew closer to tell him he was going to catch a chill. But, there were no warm arms, no gentle kisses, light and tender on his cheek, just cold, so much cold.

Soon enough, the car's smooth rumbling stopped and Robin felt it slow to a halt. He opened his eyes and stretched. But, in that time, Batman was already out and away. Robin scrambled out of the car and bounced nimbly after Batman.

The countryside was covered in an ashen blanket, though it was thin and Robin pranced easily through it. Batman lowered his hand in a gesture for Robin to settle. The boy complied, obediently falling low to the ground just as his mentor did. He hoped the fighting would start before long, to add warmth to his swiftly chilling limbs. His clothes would be soaked only too soon.

They crept towards a small, rickety farmhouse, sitting serenely on a hill. It creaked and groaned in the wind, gentle though it was, and gazed at them almost sinisterly, daring them to come any closer. Robin knew they were at a disadvantage, having it above them. Their approach would be so easily spotted.

The sky was on fire with color and snow flurried lightly in the breeze, creating patterns that arched and dissipated before Robin's eyes. The boy was chilled to the bone, but he didn't complain. It would do no good to do so, sloughing through the lightly falling snow. They crept ever closer to the building.

It was then that Robin noticed something odd. It looked as though there was a figure in the field beside the house. He wondered who would be out in this weather. "Batman", Robin whispered.

"What?" Batman snapped. Robin pointed at the field. Batman gave Robin a hand signal and directed him to approach from the left. Robin skulked low, trying his best to stay hidden by the tall grass. A patch of thorns scratched his face, but he didn't cry out. He rolled foreward and Batman let out a cry, tackling the man to the ground.

Robin sprinted eagerly to the side of the Dark Knight, heart racing and eager to do battle. "What", Batman said softly, looking down at the figure beneath him, "a Scarecrow?" Robin heard a fearful screech from above and suddenly, there were talons digging into his face. He gave a scream and tried his best to fight the creature off, but it continued to claw at him.

Batman tossed a batarang at it, which it evaded and then darted upwards towards the sky, cawing primordially. Robin turned to face Batman, holding his face in his hands with tears of pain streaming down his cheeks and mingling with rivulets of blood. Then, his view went fuzzy and suddenly, standing in front of him wasn't Batman, it was his father.

The boy backed up, shaking. "No", he murmured softly, "please no." Batman's eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Robin" he said urgently, all thoughts of the scarecrow driven out of his mind as it became apparent something was dreadfully wrong.

"No", Robin shrieked, "St…stay away from me."

"Robin", Batman said, taking a step towards him. Robin backed up, tears still streaming, and gave another cry of fear. Batman took another step and reached out to grab the boy, but Robin stumbled backwards, calling out in both agony and terror. He stumbled drunkenly a few steps and then seemed to gain his balance, racing towards the frozen forest across the plain.

Branches whipping his face, Batman crashed through the brush after Robin, knowing he had to catch him. He refused to allow himself thoughts of what might happen if he didn't. The boy, in a straight out run, would never have been able to outdistance the longer legged Dark Knight, but the fact that he was smaller, skinner and more able to get through the rough parts of the brush helped him gain some extra lengths in that place so heavy with shrubbery.

He may even have gotten well away if he hadn't toppled over a branch and fallen heavily on his chest, face first into earth. Batman was upon him in an instant. He dragged him up out of the mud. The boy was sobbing hysterically and gripped Batman's arms with more strength than the Dark Knight would have thought he possessed. "Stop it", Robin screamed, writhing to get away, "leave me alone, let me go!"

"Robin", Batman bellowed, "Robin, it's me." Batman tore off his cowl in an effort to calm the boy. It hardly helped and Robin simply writhed more frantically. "Tim!" Robin froze, staring at Batman through blue eyes almost totally obscured by mud.

Then, he started to cry again, just as frantically and violently as before. He tore his mask off, dropped to his knees, and curled up into a little ball. "Alright", Batman said softly, "alright, you're ok." He put his arms gently around Tim and held him tightly. Robin sobbed into his shoulder.

"Take me home Bruce", the boy wailed, "Please, I wanna go home."

"Ok", Bruce agreed, picking him up.

The Scarecrow did not even renter his mind as Batman hiked slowly through the brush to the Batmobile, Tim clinging tightly to him and crying desperately the entire way. As soon as they made it to the car, Bruce put Tim down gently upon it and wiped the mud from his face. Tim hung his head, trembling with cold. The mud had chilled him even more than the snow.

"Can I get you out of that costume?" Bruce asked gently, "You're going to freeze to death. I have a blanket in the back and you can wrap yourself in that." Tim didn't even seem to hear him. He just wrapped his arms tightly around himself. Bruce gently peeled off the strips of costume, it having been torn to ribbons by the branches of the frozen trees.

Then, the Dark Knight wrapped the boy tightly in one of his thick, woolen blankets. He gently placed Tim in the car and went around to the other side, climbing in and cracking up the heat as high as it would go. Soon, the vehicle warmed to a comfortable temperature, yet still Tim trembled, eyes wide with pain and vestiges of fear.

"How badly injured are you?" Tim shrugged and pulled his blanket off his chest. There was a long, jagged cut twisting it's way down his torso. Bruce leaned foreward to clean it. Tim flinched when the man's cold fingers brushed his skin. "What did you see?" Bruce asked softly as he probed the wound, searching for foreign bodies. Tim shook his head and averted his eyes, gazing pointedly at a tree outside the window.

The clouds had taken over the sky like conquerors from another world, covering the last remnants of the sunset. The snow fell heavily and darkness covered the earth. There was silence as Bruce cleaned Tim's wounds, going through the motions as if his mind were elsewhere.

Then, he surprised the boy by pulling him up onto his lap. "Lean against me", he instructed, "I'll clean your back." Tim nodded and pushed his cheek against Bruce's breastplate. It was cold and hard, precisely as Tim imagined the man's heart to be.

Just as Bruce had finished rinsing a large cut on Tim's back, obtained from a sharp tree branch, Tim. "Bruce, can I ask you something?" the boy said in a small voice.

"If you wish", Bruce replied.

"How long… how long before you get a new Robin?"

"Get a new Robin?" Bruce asked, sitting Tim up so he could gaze into his pale blue eyes, "What do you mean?"

"Well", Tim said softly, "I'm not permanent, am I?"

"I was sort of planning on having you stick around for awhile." Tim searched Batman's gaze, hunting for truth. Seemingly satisfied, he shrugged and gave a heavy sigh.

"What gave the idea you were going to be replaced", Bruce asked gently.

"I don't know", Tim muttered looking away, "I guess I'm used to being replaced. That's what my dad's doing right now, every time he tries out a new girlfriend. I suppose I'm not good enough for him. I figured I wouldn't be good enough for you either. Sometimes I wish I was different, better." Bruce blinked and placed a hand beneath Tim's chin, lifting his face so they could lock gazes once again.

"You're perfect", he said simply, as if it were the obvious thing in the world. Tim gave him a confused look.

"What?" he asked.

"You're perfect and when your father passes up a chance to be with you he…well, he just doesn't know what he's missing." There was shock in Tim's eyes, so much that it made Bruce smirk. Tim seemed to take this as proof the older man was kidding and sagged his shoulders. A tear trickled down his cheek and hit Bruce's thigh.

"Tim", Bruce said gently. Tim looked up at him again. "You are perfect Tim Drake, I promise you. I want you just the way you are."

"You…you do", Tim stammered, disbelief lighting his voice. Bruce nodded and pushed Tim's hair back. Tim, deciding his good fortune couldn't possibly last, reached foreward and wrapped his arms tightly around Bruce's neck, clinging to him in hopes he might be permitted to remain. Bruce held him tightly.

"Do you really think I'm perfect?" Tim asked.

"Of course", Bruce replied, "why would I lie? You're going to be better at all this than I am one day. You're already the better man." Tim trembled with delight at his words and his face broke into an elated grin. It felt as if a big happy balloon was swelling within him. He wondered if his body would even be able to contain it or if he would just explode.

"What's so perfect about me?" he asked eagerly.

"You're very smart", Bruce said, rubbing Tim's back, "and you're very brave. You're patient and you're good and you're a wonderful acrobat. You're strong, you're capable, you're funny in your own little way, when you choose to show it, and you're such a good friend. After all, you've been putting up with my crap for longer than Dick and Jason combined." Tim grinned.

"I'm all that", he asked softly, leaned back against Bruce's strong arms to look at him.

"Of course", Bruce replied.

"I didn't even think you liked me all that much", Tim said softly.

"Well", Bruce replied slowly, "the last person I said those words too…" Tim could hear the slight quiver in Bruce's voice as he spoke. "But I do like you Tim, a great deal. And every word I've said is the truth. You are perfect, don't ever forget that. Whatever your father says or does, you'll always be amazing to me." He pressed Tim to his chest again and stroked the boy's back lightly as they sat in the silence.

The darkness had since over taken, leaving the only light source the car. It was then that Tim spoke again. "B…Bruce", he said softly.

"Yes", Bruce asked.

"Perhaps…perhaps I don't have to go home tonight. Perhaps we can just spend the night here, you know, make sure the Scarecrow doesn't get away." Bruce grinned at him and ruffled his hair.

"Lets do it" he said, "I'll take the first watch." Tim unwound his arms from Bruce's neck and settled himself onto the man's lap, head against Bruce's armored chest. Bruce put an arm around him, cradling him gently. He turned his eyes to the darkness.


	4. Damian is Perfect

Damian slid his fingers over the curtain to his side. He quietly gazed at the fabric, taking in the folds and arches of it. He sniffed, pushing the tears back from where they had originated, deep within his soul. Damian Wayne did not cry. He pushed his hand roughly against his eyes to wipe away any tears that had escaped and gave a sigh, gazing out the window. Where could he run, what could he do?

"Why am I thinking about running?" he muttered softly to himself, "I am the grandson of Ra's Al Ghol, I could kill them all if I wanted." He heaved a sigh and sat down heavily on one of the chairs in the living room. "But then, whatever would I do with all the blood?" He put his hand on his cheek and gazed off angrily into the distance. Winston Tiebor, yes, he was the one.

"If I get rid of Winston", Damian said softly to himself, "the others will fear me. All I have to do is paint his name in his own blood on all their houses." A wicked grin crossed his face.

Batman was on patrol, the wind filling his lungs like a drug. Ohh, It felt so good to be alive and free, free as a bird. He shook his head, wishing he could feel the wind in his hair. Ohh, he hated that damn cowl so much.

He alighted on a rooftop and stumbled over his cape. Who thought up the dumb idea of a long cape anyway? He hated that damn cape. The only cape he ever would have consented to wear was the small one he wore during his time as Robin. Sure, it was useless in most every respect, but it fluttered pleasantly behind him when he flew through the air, it looked pretty cool, and it didn't get in his way.

However, Batman was fairly sure he would look ridiculous in that tiny cape now. Well, if Alfred did it just so…Suddenly a scream erupted from a near by house. Batman swung over the rooftops towards the sound. He landed in an alleyway near by and listened, head cocked so that he might more easily pinpoint from where the sound had originated.

The bloodcurdling scream again issued forth from the unknown throat and Batman raced towards the source. He landed in another alleyway and practically ran headlong into a small child. The kid was screaming like the devil himself was after him. "Help me", he shrieked, clinging tightly to Batman, "he's gonna murder me."

Batman pushed the kid behind him and dropped to a fighting stance, glaring into the darkness. A tense moment passed, the only sounds being the pathetic little whimpers issuing from the child. Then, Batman heard the sound of soft, measured footsteps. Whoever was pursuing the boy was obviously trained to at least a certain degree. His muscles tensed and he tightened them. He was wound like a spring, ready to leap at the creature or whatever it was as soon as it rounded the turn.

A light glared brightly at the mouth of the alley and something or someone stepped in front of it. The silhouette seemed oddly familiar, but Batman didn't stop to ponder it. "Go", he rasped to the thing in the light.

"Where's the kid", it rasped back, "give him to me, he's mine." That was when something struck Batman as odd. The figure was so short, only about the height of the kid he was protecting and that voice…

"Robin?" Batman said incredulously.

"This is none of your concern Batman, give me the boy."

"No", the kid shrieked, "he's trying to murder me."

"What the hell do you think you're doing Robin?" Batman asked angrily.

"Finishing what he started," Robin replied in an accusatory tone, pointing at the kid.

"He's mad", the boy wailed, "kill him Batman."

"Get out of here", Batman snarled, turning on the kid behind him. The boy yelped like a wounded puppy and darted away.

"He was mine", Robin growled.

"Damian", Batman snapped, "What the hell? Why are you trying to kill that kid?"

"Because he deserves it", Robin growled. "You shouldn't have interfered, I'll have to track him down again."

"You aren't killing anyone tonight Damian, we're going home." He strode foreward angrily and grabbed Robin by the arm, but Robin twisted out of his grasp.

"Leave me alone", he snapped in a low, deadly whisper.

"Come on", Batman snarled.

"No", Robin replied defiantly, puffing his chest out. He glared at Batman, who loomed menacingly above him, "It's time for me to finish what I started." He leapt up over Batman and darted again after the kid, but Batman raced along. He was faster that Robin and overtook him mere moments after the pursuit had begun.

Robin, seeing he would have to fight to get what he wanted, lashed back angrily, kicking Batman hard in the skull. Batman spun backwards, rolling with the blow, and swept his leg low over the earth to flip the boy's feet out from under him. Robin hit the ground hard and Batman was atop him in an instant, pinning him to the ground.

Robin tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but there was no way he would be able to bench press one hundred and forty pounds of adamant Richard Grayson and he gave up with a pant after a few moments. He glared up at Batman, who was still sitting rather heavily atop him and gave a snort.

"Now", Batman said angrily, "I want to know what this is all about. You kill people, I get it, but usually you have a reason."

"It's none of your business Grayson", Robin hissed. Then, he spat into Batman's face. Batman wiped it off with a snarl and then shocked Robin by slapping him hard. Robin stared up at him in shock and rage.

"How dare you strike me?" he roared.

"I can do whatever I want", Batman growled, "and there's nothing you can do about it so I suggest you start talking or we're just gonna sit here all night." Robin sneered and gave Batman an obstinate glare. "Fine", Batman replied, "suit yourself." The darkness seemed so loud and the silence so deep as Batman perched atop Robin for ten minutes in that alleyway. The Dark Knight was about to give in and just march Robin home so he could lock him in a cage and get some rest when he heard a tiny voice mutter bitterly in the darkness.

"He made me feel inferior." Batman looked down at Robin, surprised.

"He what?" the detective asked.

"He made me feel inferior ok, now will you let me up so we can go home."

"What do you mean?" Batman asked, climbing off Robin. The boy got up slowly and dusted himself off, tutting angrily all the while.

"I told you what you wanted to know, now lets go home."

"Hold on Damian", Batman said, "What do you mean, come on, talk to me buddy." Robin heaved a sigh and looked away.

"He said things of me", the boy muttered, "things that made me feel like less that what I am. I am the son of Talia Ra's Al Ghol, and Bruce Wayne, he had no right to speak such. He needed to be punished, they all did."

"Damian", Batman said with a sigh, "You can't just go around killing people who upset you."

"Why not?" Robin challenged angrily.

"Because, you'd have to kill too many people." Batman came foreward and put a hand on Robin's shoulder. "People are going to try and make you feel inferior your whole life Damian, there's nothing you can do about it." Batman gazed into Robin's eyes, trying to ascertain if the boy understood what he was saying. Robin surprised him by pushing himself into Batman's embrace.

"It's not fair", he said softly.

"I know", Batman crooned, putting his arms around the boy, "I know it's not fair, but it's just something you have to deal with. Everyone gets put down sometime in their life, some of us more often than others."

"Not Father", Robin replied softly, "not you."

"Are you kidding", Batman replied, "Bruce was one of the most put down people ever. People slammed him for not having powers, for being too violent, for everything he did. That's kinda what happens when you live in the public eye.

In fact, that's kinda what happens when you live at all. Unless you bury yourself in the dirt and never come out, there will forever be people trying to make you feel like you're less than they are. That's just the way people are. I get put down like twenty four seven, by you, by the League, by everyone. And you should see the criticism Tim gets."

"Well that's Drake", Robin muttered, "he deserves to feel that way. He really is inferior." Batman giggled.

"Alright, I should have seen that coming. It was a mistake to bring Tim up, one that I won't make again." He stroked Robin's hair.

"How do you keep it from bothering you," Robin asked, "the things people say? You never try to kill anyone for saying things."

"Well", Batman replied, "I just remember all the people that love me, like your dad and Tim and Alfred, and think about what they think of me. Your Father used to tell me I was perfect and I carried that with me my entire life. So, whenever I started to feel down about what people said, I just remembered what he used to tell me, that he thought I was perfect, and that was all that ever mattered to me."

"What about me", Damian whispered, "father is gone and no one tells me such things."

"You're perfect to me Damian", Batman said, "minus your homicidal tendencies, which we're gona have to work on. Other than that, what's not to love about you?" Damian snorted.

"I hear the way you talk about me with Drake."

"Alright, I'll admit, you are a little hard to live with at times, but that doesn't matter to me. I wouldn't trade you for anything. I love you Damian. And don't you even bother listening to what that boy says about you. Who cares what he thinks. I'm the Batman. I'm the only one in the whole world worth listening to anyway." Robin gave him a skeptical look and Dick grinned playfully.

"Feel better", he asked.

"I guess", Robin replied softly, "but don't you dare tell Drake about any this."

"My lips are sealed", Batman replied ruffling his hair, "and remember, just ignore that kid. It doesn't matter what he says because, no matter what, you'll always be very special to me and I'll always love you and think you're perfect."

"Are you sure I can't just kill him?"

"Yes", Batman replied, "I'm positive."

"How about if I just main him."

"No," Batman replied, "You're not allowed to hurt people unless they're committing a crime, and no, making you feel inferior is not really a crime."

"It should be", Robin replied, "if my mother had heard the things Winston said, she would have gutted him herself."

"Well", Batman replied, "in case you haven't noticed I'm not your mother. And wait, this kid's name is Winston?" Robin nodded. "Well, there you have it. With a name like Winston, he has to make other people feel bad so he can feel better about himself." Robin gave him a small smile. "Ahh see", Batman said playfully, "there's that smile. Who's my good boy?" He opened his arms to hug Robin again.

"Sorry", Robin replied, "that moment ended."

"Come here you", Batman growled and pulled Robin into a bear hug. Robin squirmed and wiggled out of his grasp, darting away.

"I'm gonna beat your slow ass home Batman", he called out behind him.

"Yea right" Batman replied, zipping nimbly after him and into the face of the rising full moon, which hung low in the sky as if watching avidly the earth below it.


	5. You're all Perfect

"Bruce, how come you don't buy Crockie's for Damian, I used to love those."

"That nasty cereal you ate when you were a kid, why would I submit my son to that?"

"I thought it was delicious", Dick said in a high, affronted voice, "and you always agreed with me."

"Because when you were eight, I had to agree with whatever you said. By the time you were thirteen, I no longer saw the need."

"Yea", Dick muttered darkly, "that was around the time you stopped laughing at my jokes too."

"Crockie's!" Tim exclaimed, "They had a TV show about that crocodile for a while and I used to watch it, I remember."

"Ohh", Bruce moaned, "not you too."

"Alright", Dick crowed, "high five for the Crockie cult." He reached out from where he was sitting in the squishiest of the Wayne manor couches next to Bruce, and highfived a grinning Tim. The sun shown brightly through the large windows, warming Tim considerably from where he was sitting. He didn't often get to be together with Bruce and Dick anymore, so he was determined to enjoy every moment of it. The fact that the demon child wasn't due back from school for another hour helped lighten his day even more considerably.

Tim put his head on Bruce's shoulder. Bruce smiled and put his arm around him. "You know", Dick continued, "I went on Amazon the other day and found out they have all those old Crockie's toys, you know the ones that came in the cereal boxes, so I bought all of them."

"What!", Bruce yelped, "I gave you that money to buy yourself something useful."

"It was Christmas money", Dick replied haughtily, "I am allowed to use it for whatever I want."

"Wow Dick", Tim said incredulously, "you do know how to waste money, don't you."

"Yup", Dick said proudly, "I am the master."

"You know Dick, those things have lead paint in them. They're supposed to be pretty toxic. They just came out with all these things about them infecting cereal."

"Well", Dick replied, "it's a good thing the toy always landed in your bowel then." Damian trudged in to Wayne Manor, dragging his heavy backpack behind him. He was growling and muttering under his breath and he stalked through the living room.

"Damian", Dick said, "You're home early, what's up?"

"Here", Damian muttered darkly, shoving a yellow slip of paper at Dick, "I'm supposed to get this signed by someone."

"Ohh Damian", Dick moaned.

"What?" Bruce asked, taking the paper from him. "You stabbed a kid with a pencil?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, it was a dull pencil", Damian said, as if that made everything better, "and he really deserved it."

"Damian", Dick moaned, "we don't stab people."

"It didn't even go in that deep, only about an inch into his leg, which was pretty fat I might add. The way he was screaming you'd think I cut off his arm or something."

"Because you would know what that sounded like", Dick said weakly.

"Yea", Damian replied with a scoff, "doesn't everybody?" Tim giggled.

"What are you laughing at Drake?" Damian snapped. Tim shrugged and giggled again. 'Ahh Damian', he thought to himself.

"What did he do to you?" Dick asked.

"He was saying things about me again", Damian replied, "so he had to be punished."

"Good going", Bruce said.

"Bruce", Dick snapped, "we shouldn't be condoning, much less encouraging this behavior."

"What, you don't think my son should defend himself?"

"I think he should use nonviolent means."

"Yea well, you know better then most Dick, that doesn't always work. When you're fighting Killer Croc, I hardly see you trying to talk it out."

"This is a defenseless ten year old boy Bruce, not a cannibalistic manic. You are just awful sometimes. Anyway, Damian, didn't I tell you not to let him bother you, just ignore him." Damian snorted. Dick leaned down and lifted his chin so he could look into Damian's eyes. "Come on little bird, you're perfect, just remember that." The moment was broken however, by Bruce giggling in the background.

"Can I help you?" Dick asked, sitting up so he could properly scowl at his former mentor.

"You gave him the "perfect" speech?"

"Yea", Dick said with a frown, "what about it?"

"Is it not true", Damian asked suspiciously, "have I simply been lied to?"

"No, of course not", Bruce replied, "it's just funny because I gave you kids that advice and I never followed it myself."

"What do you mean?" Tim asked.

"Well", Bruce said, "When kids bullied me when I was little, I just paid a whole bunch of people to help me bully them back. I was a pretty mean kid actually. I got to be an awful bully. I remember we took this one kid and we strung him up the flagpole. Man, he cried so hard. He never bullied me again after that. And this other kid…"

"Bruce", Dick said incredulously, cutting him off, "You're giving Damian bad ideas."

"So", Damian said thoughtfully, "if I pay people to bully them, things will get better."

"Now hold on", Bruce said, "don't go emulating me."

"This is a very good idea father, I shall begin practicing it promptly tomorrow. I shalt pay people to help me bully Winston."

"Now see what you've done", Dick said crossly. "It's not nice to bully Damian." Damian snorted.

"Come here", Bruce beckoned, urging Damian foreward. The boy clambered onto Bruce's lap obediently and folded his legs beneath himself, gazing up at his father. "You don't need to bully people to feel good about yourself Damian, what Dick said is true, you are perfect. I was just a violent and misguided child. Making small children cry is not exactly something you should strive for, despite what I did in the past."

"I want to be like you", Damian replied simply.

"Be like Dick", Bruce said, "He's a better person anyway."

"So wait", Dick said, "Does that mean my entire childhood was a lie and I'm not, in actuality, perfect to you?" Bruce rolled his eyes and put an arm around Dick.

"Of course you're perfect", Bruce replied, sarcasm lighting his voice, "You're still my perfect little Dickie."

"Thank you", Dick said.

"What about me?" Tim asked.

"You too", Bruce said, putting his other arm tightly around the boy, "You're perfect too. You're all perfect."

"What about Jason", Damian asked crawling into Dick's embrace, "is he still perfect? He kills people."

"Jason will always be perfect to me."

"You're pretty perfect too Bruce", Dick said. So wait Damian said, even if I became a homicidal manic, I'd still be perfect?"

"Yes", Dick said, "but don't go killing anyone anyway teddy bear." Damian gave him a dark look.

"I am not your stuffed toy and I resent that nickname."

"I know, that's why I use it. Call it a sign of my love." Damian muttered and settled himself in Dick's arms. Bruce grinned and closed his eyes, relishing in the feeling of his sons beside him.

And from the window Jason watched, shaking more from something deep within his soul than the howling wind. He gave a sigh and turned away to face the setting sun. "Perfect", he whispered softly, a nostalgic smile just barely touching his cheeks, carrying not a hint of sarcasm or anger with it, at least this once. "That's pretty cool, you still think I'm perfect old man, even after everything." He gave a sigh and lifted off. "Still perfect."


End file.
